


Cacoethes

by MrNinjaPineapple



Series: Metanoia [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic, Healing, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrNinjaPineapple/pseuds/MrNinjaPineapple
Summary: Cacoethes - An uncontrollable urge or desire to do something inadvisable.





	Cacoethes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ariejul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariejul/gifts).



Julia sits by the crumbling remains of Shaun’s crib, one hand gently caressing the rotting wood. Shadows pool in the corners of the room, coalescing into black shrouds and casting her half in darkness.

Silent sobs rack her body as her grip tightens, tears flowing freely.

_How many lives do I have to lose? How many times do I have to move on?_

As she sits beside the remnants of a life she has long since outgrown, heavy footfalls echo faintly from the hallway, growing louder as they approach.

Julia knows it isn’t Deacon. She doesn’t turn around.

The footsteps come to an abrupt end and from the edge of her vision, she sees a figure in the doorway.

“Julia…”

She recognises the voice instantly as Marcus, a fellow heavy within the Railroad, an experienced marksman, and one of the few true friends she has.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, keeping her gaze firmly away from the door.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Marcus continues, stepping a few paces into the room. “Though you didn’t make it easy for me to follow.”

Julia turns to face him, hoping that she has masked her pain well enough.

The flash of concern that crosses Marcus’ face tells her otherwise.

He looks away briefly before moving into the room proper, going around her to the opposite wall, where he looks out of the window to check the perimeter.

Deacon’s words reach through time, from one of their first real training missions.

_You don’t stay alive in the Commonwealth without being cautious. There’s danger around every corner. Everyone is out to trick you, lead you down the wrong path. You stay cautious and you might just make it._

Julia closes her eyes tight, wishing the memories away. The sound of Marcus’ boots as he moves to the other window brings her back to reality.

As Marcus’ eyes dart around, scanning the surrounding area, Julia takes the time to examine him.

His clothes are riddled with small holes, exposing the thick layer of ballistic weave beneath, and caked in dried mud. Her eyes trace a path from the armoured lining poking out of his shoulder, along his jaw, and up to his immaculate hair.

_Apart from his hair and his gun, he’d look like a scavver._

She cocks a wry smile at the thought and breaks the silence.

“Tough mission?”

As he glances over at her, she nods to the holes in his jacket. He buries a smile in his beard.

“You know how it is,” he says, head craning to get a good look out of the window. “Institute wanted one thing, I wanted another. I got my way.”

She can’t help but smile at his false bravado.

His face shifts however, as he turns away from the window, from caution to concern. As he rests Reason in a corner of the room with a soft _thunk_ , he glances over to her and she sees pity and sadness and understanding etched clearly on his face. She sees the hurt of seeing a friend in pain and knowing what it feels like.

She likes how easy it is to read him.

He picks up an old chair and places it close to her own, settling down into it heavily, kicking up a small plume of dust from his coattails.

A tense moment passes, neither sure of what to say.

“Rook?” Marcus asks bluntly, the word hanging in the air like an echoing gunshot.

“Rook…” she repeats softly, allowing the word to sink into the floorboards of her former home.

A moment passes between them, a comfortable silence.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breaking the stillness.

The question seems small, the words fading, seemingly enveloped by the oppressive air of the old house.

“No,” she replies simply, offering nothing more.

Deacon knew her inside and out. He understood every micro-expression, read between her words. At times it felt like he was in her head.

Marcus is similar in that regard, his eyes seeming to peer through her, catching every motion, no matter how small.

She doesn’t turn away.

“Aren’t you going to tell me everything will work itself out?” she says, her eyes searching his. “That everything will be okay?”

She’s joking but there’s a hard edge to her voice.

“No,” he says simply. “It won’t work itself out and it probably won’t be okay.”

Julia waits for the joke or the half-truth or the outright lie.

Nothing comes.

“It’s going to hurt,” Marcus continues. “But you will get through it. And you’ll be stronger for it.”

“When did you get philosophical?”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes and the comment rings hollow. Marcus’ expression shifts, pain layered beneath his furrowed brow.

“When I lost Nora, I thought it was all over,” he begins haltingly. “Thinking that I’d never hear her voice again. Knowing it could never be the same. I tried to find the answer at the bottom of every bottle I could find and always ended up empty-handed.

“But I was chasing something that didn’t exist anymore. Things don’t have to be the same, Julia. They won’t be. It’ll be different but that doesn’t mean it has to be worse.”

Julia has heard Marcus talk about his wife before – as she herself has spoken about Nate – but she appreciates the story and the sentiment behind it.

As before, there are no half-truths, no omissions. Everything is laid bare for her to see. His pain. His hope. Everything.

She places her hand on his consolingly and he squeezes it gently for support.

Somehow, she’s never noticed how nice his voice is to listen to. Deep and commanding, it flows like liquid velvet, each word drawing her in further.

Suddenly, Julia is all too aware of how close they are. She can feel the warmth of his body, the smoothed callouses of his hand on her own.

Her breath grows shallow.

Before she knows what she’s doing, Julia clasps his hand tighter and leans in close, feeling his lips against hers. She can taste the acrid tang of whisky, the sweet smack of tarberries hidden beneath.

There is resistance for only a moment.

It gives way and Marcus snakes a hand up to her face, his rough hands tracing her jawbone before slipping into her hair, fingers slowly running through and sending a ripple down her spine.

The smell of rifle grease and whisky – with the faintest trace of sweat from long travel buried underneath – assails her senses and she presses against him harder, desperately trying to shake away any thoughts of what she left behind at the Old North Church. Her hand finds his and she entwines their fingers.

A flash of Deacon’s expressionless face runs through her mind and she pulls away, breathless.

She can read Marcus’ concerned expression effortlessly.

The clarity stings.

“Julia, I’m sorry. That was stupid. I…”

Marcus talks but she doesn’t listen.

The blood rushes through her ears too loud and she waits just long enough to get her breath back, watching the way his lips move, hearing that deep, smooth voice but not the words within.

_He’s not Deacon._

The realisation is sharp and cold. She fights back fresh tears as it threatens to overwhelm her.

Marcus notices the change in her and grows silent, watching with concern clear in his expression as she gets up to leave. Walking to the doorway feels like an eternity, each step allowing her to gain her composure and collect her thoughts.

She stops at the threshold.

“Thank you, Marcus,” she says softly, without turning, her voice tinged with equal parts sincerity and regret.

She walks across the hallway and shuts the bedroom door. Marcus stares at the doorway for a few moments before sighing, stretching back in the chair and closing his eyes.

After a few minutes, he’s asleep, the long journey having caught up with him.

Julia stays awake the rest of the night, the weight of many lost lives playing on her mind. She doesn’t know when she falls asleep but as she wakes up, sunlight streaming through her window and the smell of freshly-cooked breakfast wafting from the kitchen, she knows the truth of Marcus’ words.

_I can get through this._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - A big thank you to Ariejul for letting me borrow her wonderful OC, Julia, and another big thank you to ScorpioSkies for betaing!


End file.
